Stopping by woods on a snowvy evening
Whose wood these are I think I know
His house is in the village thought
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his wood fill up with snow
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farm house near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year
He gives his harness ball a shake
To ask if there is same mistake
The only other sound the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake
The wood are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
Swati chourasia
08-Oct-2021 08:18 PM
Nice
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Angela
07-Oct-2021 02:28 PM
Good
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Fiza Tanvi
29-Sep-2021 04:45 PM
Good
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